Tron: Dominion
by DXM147
Summary: As Sam begins the desperate search for his father in the Grid, Encom faces a new threat as a self-replicating program introduces itself onto the new system. Tron finds his way in a strange new nexus, while Flynn and CLU confront each other. T for language


At the time we didn't think it would have the impact it had. It was actually several years before we even had the funding to replicate it. We had to start from scratch, as I believed that the old system was too open, too easy to corrupt. The new system took on a vast plain, with no architecture cluttering the landscape, just a blank level connected by the inner workings of the computers. It was a digital space represented by a physical presence to us, but in reality it was transforming our consciousness to a digital manifestation. But that was the beauty of the Grid; you didn't know where the digital landscape began and the physical existence ended.

In this blank world, I created a program. I wanted him to help me build the perfect system, one free from prejudice and open for all users. I couldn't stay in the system all the time, so the program ran it for me. I called him CLU, and we started on our perfect empire.

Grid 2.0.

* * *

><p>Edward Dillinger, Jr. stood at the head of the long table surrounded by men he knew for more than three years. He tried his best to sound as if he was being sincere, but in reality he was mortified. This group of men were some of the most powerful in the industry, and in a swift move, the largest shareholder had bought out the remaining shares of the Encom Software Company and let go of the board, with some help from his partners.<p>

"Gentlemen, I don't exactly know how to say this so I'm just going to go right into it. Sam Flynn, as of 5:30 this morning, now owns 72 and a half percent of Encom. Alan Bradley retains his 15 and a half percent, Roy Kleinberg owns 2 percent, and I own the remaining shares, save for a trust in some unknown person's name." He paused. "You no doubt have received word from the son of Flynn that the Board has been terminated."

A tall and skinny man with thinning hair raised a fist and slammed it down on the conference table. "All that we've worked for, our livelihood, undone."

"Then that is work that will be improved upon." The rest of the table turned around and saw Alan Bradley, grey hairs more prevalent than ever, but his face looking remarkably young and chipper, enter the conference room. "Considering what you've done these years as work."

"Have to rub our faces in it Alan?" said the skinny man. "It's not enough you've ruined the people at the table's lives, you have to make a scene of it."

Alan Bradley took a breath. "A wise man once said, 'Fools may our scorn, not envy, raise. For envy is a kind of praise.' There is no envy for Encom since Kevin Flynn disappeared. There is only contempt for the way this company has been run. A new operating system with no improvements? Technology that causes more problems than it solves? Shutdown of Encom's arcade ventures? No, gentlemen, this is not I that have ruined your lives. It is the way you have conducted yourself."

The skinny man laughed. "And Junior here?"

"'Junior' has earned his place. A remnant of the genius of his father with none of his father's shortcomings. Edward Dillinger Jr. is well suited for Encom, and we are delighted that he will be venturing with us." He raised an imaginary glass in the air and motioned to Edward on the other side of the long table. Edward echoed the gesture.

Then Edward wiped his smile off his face, and began, "We do not wish this venture to be a slap in the face to you fine gentlemen, but a challenge, to go out in the world and compete not for greed, but for glory."

The skinny man stood up in anger and punched his fist into the neighboring wall. "I don't know what the hell that damn kid found out, but we will not go quietly into the night! Arcade games? Are you kidding me? That's what you want to turn this company into? You want to devolve it? Good luck and good riddance I say!" He stormed out.

"Flynn lives," Alan called to the exiting man.

"Who gives a shit?" he retorted.


End file.
